Tag Archives: memories

My Run-In With the Klan in the Mid1980s

Politics, Relationships, , , , , , , ,
The protest is getting out of hand
The protest is getting out of hand (image from in game screen shot of City of Heroes)

It was shortly after West Point, and I was stationed at Fort Knox, Kentucky. One weekend I had time off, so a few soldiers and I decided we were going to take a trip to Nashville for a concert that was taking place there. This was in the middle of the 1980s during a period of time when the United States was starting to regain some of its image around the world, as much of the 1970s was spent recovering from the disastrous Vietnam War era. Reagan was president, the Soviet Union still had years until it collapsed, Star Wars had finished its original trilogy, the Cosby Show taught us values from someone who still had a lot of respect throughout the country, and there was a sense that things in the future were going to be improving because so many technologies appeared to be in our headlights, like microwaves, cell phones, the Internet and some device called a Rubik’s Cube.

So we hopped into my Mercury Capri, all five of us, and made our trip south. In case you’ve never taken the trip by car before, it’s a really nice drive through beautiful country.

Anyway, somewhere around the border of Kentucky and Tennessee (to be honest, I don’t remember which side of the border when this happened), we came to a huge intersection that was kind of bogged down with traffic. It felt kind of out of the ordinary because traffic had been moving so smoothly only moments before. And then I discovered why.

On all four corners of the intersection were people dressed in white robes handing out pamphlets to people in their cars. For some reason, this spectacle seemed to slow traffic down to a standstill. It took me a couple of moments to realize what was happening, but traffic was moving slowly because each driver was having somewhat of an impassioned conversation with whatever person in robes showed up alongside that driver’s car. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear any of their conversations, but part of me to this day hopes that the words exchanged were not friendly, but I honestly don’t know any of those details.

This was the Ku Klux Klan handing out their pamphlets to the people who were driving through their county.

Now, I’d never seen one of those people before in real life. Sure, I’d heard all of the stories about them, watched films of some of their notorious deeds in the past and knew that since the early days of this country they represented some of the most vile sentiments people could possibly have. But seeing them in person, I had no clue what their intentions might be, or even how much of the past history the group made was part of what they might be doing on that particular day.

Then I reached the position where they were located. They were blocking traffic, one person standing in front of a car to make sure you had to stop while another came over to the window to speak and offer their pamphlets. I was kind of oblivious to what was really going on, but the person who came to my window knocked on it and gestured for me to roll down the window. Somewhat curious, I did.

Okay, two things are important to this story. First, the person who knocked on my window was a female Klan member. Second, well, I should have probably mentioned a little bit more about the group of people in my car.

There were five soldiers in my car, tightly packed into it. The guy in the middle back seat was white, and so was I. The guy sitting next to me and the two men seated near the doors in the backseat were all African-Americans. Every person in the car was a seasoned veteran and currently serving in the Army.

So I rolled down my window, and I was not known for holding back on anything I had to say, so the first thing out of my mouth was: “So, they’re letting women into the Klan now?”

The woman stared at me for a second and responded with: “Women have been in the Klan for years.”

On instinct, I said: “Wow, how progressive of them. I guess they let anyone into it these days.”

To that, the guy seated next to me crouched over to the window and said. “That’s so cool. How long until I get to join?”

And I think that’s the moment that she realized the car was packed with a mixture of people she was probably not all that comfortable with seeing. The two guys in the backseat yelled out: “Can I have a pamphlet?” and “What time are your meetings, cause most of my mornings and afternoons are kind of busy these days with Army shit?”

The woman turned to her partner who was blocking my car and pointed to the car, I guess trying to figure out what she should do. I helped them make a quicker decision instead.

I said: “If he doesn’t move, I’m running his ass over.”

The guy in front of my car motioned for one of other partners, kind of trying to motion him over to the car or at least to assist him in blocking the car. Now, I don’t know what they were intending to do, but let’s put things into perspective. We were all trained killers and even without guns could do some serious damage to someone if we needed to, so if they would have stopped us and forced us out of the car, even if they were armed, the chances are there would have been three fewer Klan members alive that day.

I also noticed that one of the guys in the backseat, a part time power lifter who people used to call “The Tank” (which is someone ironic because he was an armored division officer) had his hand on the door handle and was about to step out and start an encounter that wouldn’t end well for anyone. In my rear view mirror, I could see the whole group was already transitioning into the “fight” of fight and flight mode.

Instead, I gunned the engine and just lurched forward. The woman at my window jumped back and the guy directly in front of me saw me coming and literally dived to the side of the road. The other guy that was heading towards the car also jumped back, realizing that I was flooring it and had no intentions of remembering my car had a brake pedal.

So we continued driving until I stopped a few miles out so the adrenaline could subside. One of the guys n the back yelled: “Let’s go back and fuck them up!”

But we didn’t. We continued on and made it in time for the concert we went to see. A good time was had by all.

That was my one and only encounter with the Klan. But I never forgot it.

Why Social Networking Never Really Worked For Me

Social Networking, Writing, , , , ,

I know this is going to sound a bit strange, considering the amount of time I put into social networking sites, and the amount of energy that I expend actually working with them, but I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I’ve never been a fan of social networking sites. And it’s not because of reasons you might suspect.

You see, part of the appeal of a social networking site is that you can revisit the past by contacting people you used to know and get reacquainted with them. And that’s great. I’ve run across a lot of people I’ve known over the years, hooked back up with them on social networking sites like Myspace, Facebook and Twitter, and it’s been great. However, there’s been a sinister underbelly to this whole thing as well. And I suspect it’s one of those things that really only affects me more than anyone else. Let me explain.

For years, I have had great relationships with a lot of people, relationships that I have valued greatly. But it’s only through the use of social networking that I began to suspect that quite a few of those relationships were quite one-sided, in that I think I may have been the only one to actually have thought them to be as significant as they really were.

An example: When I was a young kid, I had a friend in fourth or fifth grade who gave me a stuffed animal who has been with me practically my entire life. At the time, that stuffed animal was pretty significant to her, and a friend of mine and I used to play catch with him in class. And at one point, I guess he became even more significant to me because she gave him to me, and I thought that was such a thoughtful gesture. Over the years, I remembered her name, mainly because she gave me that stuffed animal. And that little guy and I have been through a lot together. I went into the Army, and he went in with me. Other soldiers used to call him Lieutenant Elmer, and there was a time when I tossed him out to little kids to play with, as a sort of “get to know us as good people, not just occupiers in green uniforms” and they played with Elmer, throwing him around kind of like my friend and I had done in fourth and fifth grade. Like I said, that little stuffed animal has been with me for nearly forty years, and he’s seen more of the world than most other people ever will. And he may have had a serious impact on the lives of people who experienced his friendly stuffed ways.

But years later, when I made contact with the person who gave me that stuffed animal, her response when I mentioned I still had him nearly floored me. I got the impression she didn’t even remember him. And those memories of the connection that we had back then, shared over that little green frog who has touched so many lives, were forever tainted.

This same phenomenon has radiated also through other relationships I have had as well. There are a number of people I have known through the years who don’t seem to remember our relationships as fondly as I have. So when I went to contact them, after finding them through some search algorithm that Facebook or whatever site I was using used, I realized that they had almost completely different memories of our special times together. In some cases, they didn’t even accept friend requests, which gave me the impression that not only did they think back fondly on our wonderful times together, but they may not have remembered them at all.

Memories are like that, in that not always do both people remember an event the same way. I have a former best friend of mine who I actually went through a lot of work to find again through a social networking site. When I finally found him, it was a ho hum connection, which meant that no matter how fondly I remember our great adventures together, time destroyed the real bonds of friendship. Like Wolfe’s book warns us, sometimes you can’t go home again, no matter how much you long for how great home was at one point in time.

That’s what social networking has shown me, and it hasn’t been the experience I hoped to have. Sometimes, I think it might have been better to keep some of those past relationships in memory where that shared fondness still existed, never to be replaced by the reality that that person I would have done anything to be with a few more seconds longer in that relationship we once shared hasn’t spent one instant thinking about us since we parted ways.